


Love him from the skin to my bones

by Kindahappened



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asia, Basically, Depression, F/M, Harry is the sun, Homophobia, M/M, Orphanage, but it's not that dark i promise, louis needs to leave and then learn to adapt and understand the world, niall's a wonderful ball of energy and helps him along the way, travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:49:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindahappened/pseuds/Kindahappened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The realisation hits him hard and he suddenly finds it difficult to breathe, throat tight and heart throbbing, because that’s it. Louis had travelled through so many countries in some half-conscious quest for meaning and colours and sounds and feelings and just a place to finally reach a state of peace within -he’d imagined an ancient temple, a humble farm, a wild mountain, something cliché and reachable-, but he finds home in Harry.</p><p>Or, Louis is a rich sheltered kid who leaves everything behind to discover the real, foreign world, and Harry is a lost boy who helps children in one of the world’s poorest country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love him from the skin to my bones

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for a title and Runaway by Ed Sheeran was playing, and that's when I realised that it kind of fitted perfectly. I must have unconsciously used the lyrics to create this... That's all I'll say!
> 
> Be kind, and I hope you'll like this. I certainly didn't plan for this to be so long... I also hope that this will make you wanna travel for the rest of your life?? Anyway
> 
> Disclaimer: I quite obviously don't own One Direction and am in no way related to them  
> also, english isn't my first language so dont be mean ;)

Louis’ life has always been filled with lies, knotted together, swelling inside him, so big and tangled and tiring that he eventually stopped trying to sort them out. It’s just there: like a constant twist in his stomach that always makes him feel like he’s on the verge of crying. Except he doesn’t, ever. Because Louis can’t remember the last time he let himself care about anything.

He became real good at that game, sometimes even surprising himself with how his coping mechanism is rooted deep inside, so much that he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. He doesn't remember when he stopped keeping track of the scores, but he’s pretty sure he wins every time now.

When he caught Eleanor in her room sucking bruises into Ian’s neck, he watched his best mate take off his girlfriend’s top, and moan, and tell her to keep going, El, so good for me, I’m gonna fuck you so bad. He’d known Ian for as long as he could remember, dated El since high school; and as the feelings of betrayal, anger and pain started building up inside him, he remained completely still. He kept watching them from the half-closed door until they screamed each other’s names and collapsed on the bed, panting. He then remembered to breathe and turned around, walked back home surrounded by the winter, everywhere.

He didn’t say anything either when his dad handed him the contract that bounded him to become the company’s future CEO, or when his parents ripped his acceptance letter from drama school, telling him that he’d never become an actor anyway, because Louis, those are children dreams, art is for the weak ones. Your life lies right ahead of you, it’s waiting, you just have to focus, Louis, and take what’s offered to you.

And his dad is right: Louis’ life is handed out to him on a silver platter. Everything has been planned for him since forever, because Louis is a Tomlinson and he’s the son of one of England’s wealthiest men, and that’s what's meant to be. Wanting anything else would be, to anyone, both childish and ridiculous. So Louis takes it all. He behaves like the good son that he is. He’s smart and witty and beautiful. He stays with his girlfriend who will soon have to become his fiancé, even though he feels nothing but contempt for her. He keeps going to Ian’s house every Wednesday night because that’s what they’ve done for the past ten years, because Ian is Louis’ best friend and their dads are working together. He forgets about theatre, he forgets about acting, he forgets about himself altogether. He smiles and works hard and everyone admires him, and when Louis is asked how he feels, he always gives his best-practiced grin and says ‘I’m brilliant’.

 

 

__________________

 

It’s three o’clock and Louis is bored. Not that it changes much from the usual: but today everything feels particularly heavy, and slow, and dull, and Louis isn’t sure if he can take it any longer. It’s a relief when the bell finally rings: he almost jogs out of the classroom and instantly looks for Ian, on his tiptoes to see above the crowd, when someone crashes against him. It’s a small girl with a shy smile and red cheeks, but Louis doesn’t give her the chance to apologise, voice sharp and accusatory:

"Can’t you just look where you’re going, stupid?!" He can see it in her eyes: the shock, the shame, the incomprehension, he can see it in the way her cheeks get red and how she quickly ducks her head and leaves, fast and quiet. His day suddenly gets better.

"Having fun traumatising the geeks, Louis?", Ian’s voice suddenly says from behind, laughing slightly as he grabs him by the shoulders. "You should have waited for me".

"Hello to you too, Ian", Louis replies, shooting him a sly smile as they start walking towards the door. (the hand on his shoulder is burning him. He leaves it there for a moment.) "You know I can’t get enough of it".

"Eh it’s fine, I’ll find someone else to play with" Ian whispers, like it’s a secret only Louis can keep.

Maybe it _is_ , though. It’s their thing, being obnoxious pricks, bullying the less-upper class kids and parading in the corridors. It started when they both hit puberty at 16, Ian getting tall and ripped, the girls suddenly all over him, and Louis not growing up but instead getting curvier - he hated his body, hated his fringe that’d always fall back in front of his eyes, hated his short legs and round bum and thick thighs, but no one else seemed to mind and so Louis made sure that no one ever would, attacking everyone before they could. Ian who had it inside him already - the hatred and contempt - was more than happy to be part of Louis’ little game.

" What now?" he asks, impatient. "The year's almost done, shouldn't we be celebrating or something?"

"At yours?" Ian replies, easy. "El can tell everyone"

Images threaten to resurface. Naked bodies and sweat and dirty words and 'Louis will never love you as much as I do' and -

"Right, that's a deal then". Louis smiles, as he always does, swallowing loudly. He shrugs Ian's hand off of his shoulder when he sees his girlfriend around the corner, opening his arms so she can curl into his embrace."Missed you darling" he says, because that's what everyone expects him to say.

"You saw me a few hours ago, chill" she replies, winking at him and wrinkling her nose in away that'd have been cute if he didn't hate her so much. "What have you two been up to?"

 

 

The party isn't too bad. Eleanor did a good job at selecting the right people; they're all just like him, rich, careless and loud. Everyone's drinking hard and Ian even bought weed from the kid down the street. Louis dances for a while, cigarette loose between his lips, hips moving slowly to the rhythm of the music. He can hear people laughing and shouting around him, can feel all eyes on him. It all makes his head spin a little, so he walks out of the house and goes in the garden, laying on the wet grass, closing his eyes slightly. He can feel his shirt getting damp - can feel every drop of water creeping on the fabric and reaching his skin, giving him goosebumps.

He tries to relax and ignores the way his stomach twists. He just started feeling slightly calmer when someone he doesn't know breaks the silence.

"Well, look who's there!"

Louis knows the voice. He knows it well, because Nick Grimshaw is probably the only person he kind of admires at school. He always cracks jokes that are better than Louis', wears silk scarfs all the time. He's also openly gay, and overly confident about it. For a reason that's unknown to Louis, he's managed to come out publicly and still keep his parents happy and his friends around him. He's the exception, though (Louis had carefully watched how Mike, a boy who used to take the same art classes as him in high school, come out when he was 18. He'd watched the way everyone started reacting differently around him, walking a bit faster whenever he'd be close. He watched him be bullied by everybody, watched the bruises and the way he winced when he walked. He watched Mike become depressed, watched the tiredness and emptiness fill him up and watched Mike's empty seat in the classroom for weeks. He watched the school screen for a long time, too, when the news came in; trying to imagine how Mike felt while reading the short description of his suicide. He looked at the picture of his smiling face, feeling something crumbling inside him. No one has ever talked about Mike since, especially not Louis).

But Nick was different. Louis thinks it's probably because of the charisma, confidence and power that seem to pour out of him. Maybe also because Nick is beautiful and would spit on anyone who'd dare to insult him in any way. Louis is filled with envy and curiosity. Nick sits down next to Louis, pats his thigh slightly. Louis doesn't move.

"You awake?" He opens his eyes slightly.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing kitten, I'm not going to hurt you" Nick mocks, tone patronising and borderline insulting. Louis decides he hates him.

"Don't be ridiculous and don't give me pet names" he replies, feeling the need to take control of the situation. "It's not like I even know who you are."

"Sure you do." The _everyone does_ remains unsaid, though they both know it's there. Nick lies down next to him. Louis let's out a sigh. He can feel annoyance and impatience rising steadily inside him, and he struggles to keep quiet. He gives in a little, decides he can let Nick win that one. There's no need to pretend. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Grimshaw?" He makes sure there's enough contempt in his voice for Nick to be careful with his next choice of word. "Just thought I'd find out where you're hiding, that's all". A pause. Then:

"You happy with the party?" Fine, Louis thinks. Let's pick the small talk angle.

"It's fine, I guess. I'm just pretty bored."

"Poor you" Nick teases, "full of money and alcohol and fancy clothes. Dunno who'd ever want that. Our lives are quite terrible."

 _You have no idea_ Louis thinks, to then realise he'd said it out loud. He bites his lip hard when he hears Nick laugh, too loud.

"Oh, so Louis isn't happy where he is? Not even happy to be a student at England's most prestigious business school?"

"I never wanted to study business" Louis hisses, feeling attacked. "None of us did. That's not much of a surprise." Nick knows how to press the right buttons, and Louis hates him for it. He has to keep control, but it's getting harder and harder.

"Right" he finally says a bit too late, voice hard and cold.

"Don't get mad love, I know your daddy's the one using you like an obedient puppet."

Louis' fingers dig into the dirty grass, knuckles whitening. He breathes deep before turning his face to watch Nick in the eyes. The prick is smiling.

"Fuck off, Grimshaw" is all he finds to say. It doesn't come out sharp enough, but Nick shrugs and winks at Louis, happy with himself.

Well. Nick is amused and Louis feels absolutely disgusted with how weak he is, but he can't quite give up now. So he forces a smile and shuts his lids close.

Nothing else is said for a while. They stay silent in the night, damp backs and foggy breaths, close enough to be able to sense each other's warmth. Louis almost forgets he's here, feels increasingly numb and tired, the taste of alcohol still burning his drunk tongue.

"You were pretty out there, you know."

It hangs there, in the middle of the night, and Louis lets out a bitter laugh. It certainly isn't what he was expecting.

"Don't you know that I've got a girlfriend? Sorry to break it down to you mate, but we're not playing on the same team."

He can feel Nick pushing himself up on his elbows, so he forces himself to look at him and finds his face way too close to Nick's.

He's very attractive, is the thing. He's got messy brown hair and light eyes and long lashes and a smile so wide it seems to be stretching his entire face. He looks at Louis with a look that says everything he doesn't want to think about. He voices it anyway, because he knows very well the effect he has on him and he's proud of it.

"Now, Louis, don't lie to me. We both know you want my cock, and that it'd be the best fuck you ever - " He's cut by Louis' hands around his throat, quick and tightening. Nick grins and opens big eyes, arching an eyebrow slightly. Louis hates him. And because he wants Nick to shut up and most of all, to make that sufficient smile disappear from his lips, he moves one hand into Nick's hair and pulls him harsh against him. Their mouths collide and they kiss with anger, all hard angles and messy battles to conquer the other's mouth.

Louis hates Nick. He hates him when he starts pressing wet kisses along his jawline, making him shiver. He hates him when he feels his hand sliding under his tangled shirt, nails digging into the cold flesh. He hates him when he's pushed against one of the house's walls, in a dark corridor, music from downstairs loud in his ears. He hates him when they take off each other's clothes blindly with haste. He hates him because Nick can see right through him when no one else can, even though they'd never directly talked to each other before that night. Because Nick is the perfect embodiment of everything Louis wishes to be but would never dare to. So Louis lets Nick fuck him senseless, let's him win and let's himself go a little, just enough to give up control over his body. He's both thrilled and terrified by how much he's feeling, and has no clue what to think about the entire situation, so he shuts his mind down and screams Nick's name when he comes.

 

 

 

The days go on and Nick doesn't say a thing to anyone, so Louis decides it's enough of a reason to keep seeing him. There are heated kisses in the toilets and messy hand jobs in Louis' room that always end up with them laying sticky on the bed, in silence while sharing a cigarette. Nick is an asshole most of the time, pushing Louis and teasing him too much, making him admit silently all the weaknesses he's always known he had, but he makes him feel a little more like himself and it's all that matters. It feels like his own little rebellion, cheating back on Eleanor and secretly breaking every single rule he knows. Nick doesn't ask questions, just generally doesn't care about anything and it's everything Louis could ask for.

He begins to call Nick at the most random times, talking dirty words and begging him to come over, now. They fuck against the kitchen's counter with Louis' parents watching a film in the living room next door, groans muffled against each other's necks. Louis let's himself get wrecked until it's hard for him to walk straight, but he's never felt that alive. He flirts with the possibility of getting caught, gets high on it; it's a whole new level of not caring, Louis thinks, and it's absolutely worth it.

 

 

His parents discover his dirty little secret way sooner than he expected. He's blowing Nick on his knees when his mum knocks against the door and opens it without waiting, because Louis never hides anything from his parents. Why would they wait for him to invite them in?

Louis has is back turned to her but he can imagine perfectly the look on her face. A mix of disgust, horror, disappointment and rejection. He hears the pile of laundry she was probably carrying fall on the floor with a heavy, empty sound, echoing his heart.

 

__________________

 

He hadn't thought of it, not enough, not at all, if he has to be honest. He hadn't wanted to imagine his parents' reactions when they'd find out that their son was a complete, utter failure. Someone they didn't actually know, someone they didn't actually want. Knowing that he wanted to be an artist had shattered forever the adoring looks and thoughtful presents. He should have known that discovering their son's homosexuality (especially in that way) would break everything.

 

__________________

 

"I don't know", he says for the tenth time, eyes burning with the tears he's holding back, "I don't know what wrong with me".

He should have thought about it, really. He was just too caught up in his own head. He'd been stupid.

"I'll tell you what's wrong with you" his father spits, "you're a faggot and a disappointment. You make me want to throw up. That's what's wrong with you"

"How could you do this to us" his mother sobs, "We were so proud of you, Louis. We thought we'd raised you so much better than that"

"You're going to stop this nonsense right away. That slut of a Grimshaw probably manipulated you into it and it ends tonight"

"It's just a phase Louis, right? Of course you're not gay. You love Eleanor."

He stays quiet, not even able to look at them in the eyes. Each word hurts more than the other. The silence stretches until Louis feels a shadow envelop him.

"You _reply_ when your mother speaks to you!", the voice above him yells. His father hits him in the face; unexpected, hard and precise, making him sick, blood slowly sliding from his lips and cheekbone. Louis cries silent tears, body shivering, nails scratching the skin on his forearms deep and slow.

"You listen to me, you little slut. You love Eleanor and you're going to marry her. You're going to fuck her and give her children and you will _not_ , do you hear me, you will not be this family's shame. If I ever catch you even looking at a man, you're gone. My son isn't a freaking queer."

Something clicks inside him. Maybe because the entire truth fills him up, though it's been inside him forever - he'd just chosen to ignore it. He'd have never thought, had he made himself imagine his parents' response, that they'd react like this, that it would hit him so hard. He would have liked to keep fooling himself and believe that their love for him was more than one based solely on social standards and idiot traditions; that they actually loved him for who he was. But Louis has always seen the corruption and fear and anger and contempt rot them from the inside; he knew who they were and that, he decides, never was who he wanted to be. He had let his parents dictate the way he had to think and behave and just control what kind of person he had to become, bullying him into pretending to be someone else for twenty years, and he decides he's had enough.

This, Louis realises, is exactly what he needed.

He had to see the disgust on his parents' face, had to see the way they weren't even able to look at him in the eyes, the way they were standing far away, revulsed, as if they'd catch something terrible if getting too close, from their own son. He'd wanted, in a way, for this to happen - was desperately trying to get to this exact moment, he knows, with his reckless attitude with Nick. He needed to have a confirmation of everything he was hopelessly trying to shove down inside him, the disgusting truth about the kind of life he was living and the kind of people who surrounded him.

That's when he looks up, because at this exact moment, he knows what he had to do. So he looks up and stands, lips trembling but eyes steady. He smiles at his father, looking wrecked and insane but also somehow absolutely powerful, and simply says:

"I'm done".

He could have stayed long enough to see the absolute astonishment on his parents' face, the look of total disbelief. He could have stayed long enough to hear his mother sob loudly and his father punch the kitchen's wall. Instead, he runs to his bedroom, throws as many clothes in his suitcase as possible, grabs his bag and leaves without a word, door slammed shut behind him. Walking in the night, Louis swears he can feel something loosen in the pit of his stomach. There's something terrifyingly free in the infinite unknown that lies in front of him, the absence of ties and promises, the utter isolation and independence, and Louis finds himself laughing, so hard his entire body aches, and he throws his head back, stars on his face like spray.

 

__________________

 

On the ride to the airport, thoughts start twirling back into his head as the adrenaline deflates, and he can feel fear crawling back inside him There isn't anyone, or anything that keeps him here. He knows that, but finds his hard to grasp what it really implies, how it affects not only his present but also his future. He has nowhere to stay, no friend to turn to, he's never gone anywhere without his parents. Louis is 20 and has no idea of what the real world looks like.

It's hard for him to apprehend the fact that he, in this exact moment, owns his life. He holds it between cradled hands, shaking, unsure of what to do with it, unsure of what he's looking for. He lists the thing he already knows - his family rejected him, he won't see them again, he's all by himself, he's scared. But there's something he can't quite define that's inside him, a tight feeling like a fire ready to burn his entire body, making one skin disappear, revealing the other.

Standing at the entrance of Heathrow, he can't help but feel like he'll need more than just this new, unknown feeling of freedom and complete independence to take this step that feels like a thousand. He walks inside the crowded airport, his suitcase behind him, and tries to think for a minute.

He knows his father, he knows he won't take him back - that he meant it when he'd said that Louis was a disgrace, that he'll disinherit him as soon as he'll get the chance. If he's relieved by the idea of not being tied to his father's company for his entire life, he's not stupid: he knows that not being part of the family anymore also means no more access to the money he owns. That creates a wave of panic inside him, the thought of being left alone on the streets without any money for himself, makes him want to vomit and hide and run back home. But he's done so much already, he can't let himself go back with his tail between his legs, he can't be a scarred little boy anymore; so he goes to the closest withdraw machine and empties his account as much as he can, the large stack of cash heavy in his bag, his hand clasped around the handles, holding it close against his chest with one arm. He takes one deep breath and goes to the selling desk.

"Hello. I'd like to buy a one way ticket for the soonest departure. Please." The words feel heavy against his tongue. He doesn't look at the hostess in the eyes, instead focusing on his passport in his trembling hands. She coughs, making him look up shyly.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't get what your destination is?"

He thought the hardest part was over, but he was wrong. He doesn't quite understand why he feels so shameful telling her:

"That's because I don't have any. I'd just like a Business ticket for the soonest flight. I don't care about where it takes me".

He tries to smile to her, tries to sound confident, but can see the confusion in her eyes. She shake her head a little and looks down at her screen anyway, taking his passport without looking at him.

"Right, we...have a flight that takes off in 30 minutes. You'll need to go to the security check right now. You can buy your visa there. It's ... "

"I'll take it" he says in a rush, "That's all I need to know". Another fake smile that feels like he's ripping his cheeks apart.

 

 

When he sits down on the plane, his bag tucked under his feet, the ticket is safely folded in his jacket's pocket, against his heart. He hasn't looked at where this will take him, didn't want to, maybe didn't really find the courage to, either. But when the plane starts roaring as it takes off, Louis finds himself smiling. There's no going back now, he knows it, but can't find any trace of regrets inside him. "Ladies and gentlemen welcome to our flight to New Delhi ..." When the plane steadies and flies away from London, Louis feels the knots in his stomach begin to untie.

 

_____________________

 

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but certainly not this.

New Delhi jumps on him with such intensity that his vision gets blurry and his breath catches in his throat.

There are _so_ many people; masses of human body and human heat and songs and loud laughs and yells. Louis has never seen such a crowd in his entire life. Everything's a mess; cows crossing the streets and rickshaws coughing up screens of brown smoke, motorcycles ridden by entire families, food cooking on wonky carts, lines of shops with flashes of red and cold and green. People sitting on the ground, people riding bicycles and cars and walking and running. Smells from everywhere assail him; there's dirt, meat, sweat, fruits, heavy perfumes, and Louis feels like he's going to faint. A taxi stops in front of him and he throws himself in it, running away from the overwhelming city. When he closes the door, his entire body relaxes as the air conditioning violently contrasts with the humid heat of the city. He can still hear the outside noises but they're crashing on the windows of the taxi, coming to him in fainted bribes. He points the address of the hotel on the guide he bought on the plane to the driver, and closes his eyes.

 

 

Standing in the middle of the room, Louis lets out a deep sigh - it's a mixture of relief and anguish. The room is so spacious he's sure some people would call it a flat. Everything is really clean and it could almost feel like home, with the occidental furnitures, the light grey paint on the walls, the stack of apples on the wooden desk. There's a king sized bed with sheets so white they make him blink several times, surrounded by candles, fancy paintings hanging right above. It's expensive, it's clean, aseptic, maybe a little bit too much, but right now Louis feels like it's the only thing that keeps him grounded.

As soon as he'd gotten inside, he'd thrown away as much clothing as possible, feeling more and more like he was about to suffocate from the heat outside. Now, bare footed on the wooden floor, his toes curl as a cold shiver runs through him. _I'll be fine_ , he tells himself, _I'm gonna be ok_.

He looks down at the way his shirt sticks to his stomach with sweat, a disgusted pout on his lips. He feels like the entire world's dirt has been thrown at him, literally as much as metaphorically. He's feeling heavier and heavier.

There's a huge bathtub waiting for him in the bathroom. He takes off the rest of his clothes one by one, trying not to look at the fading scars on his hips, trying not to look at the way his stomach sinks in almost as a reflex (he remembers with precision the look on Nick's face when he'd seen the scars for the first time - frowned eyebrows first, then his usual cocky smile: "What does Eleanor say about that?" he asked, and if in any other situation Louis should have felt humiliated, he couldn't help but be thankful for the lack of pity in Nick's voice. "She doesn't," he'd replied, "We've never slept together". Nick's roar of laughter filled in the entire room, and that made him feel vulnerable. His voice was mixed with blame and malice when he had whispered: "Louis, I didn't take you virginity, have I?". He had stood completely still, suddenly regretting his nakedness that made him feel like his entire being was exposed. "You're not worth it Grimshaw, of course I wasn't a virgin". The smile on Nick's voice was back, and Louis swore he could see some relief in it. "Good" he'd replied, before going back to Louis' neck, nibbling the delicate skin there, his hand working towards his pants, "Let's go back to business, then". Things were back to normal, but after this, he noticed that Nick's hand were never again brushing the scared skin of his left hip.)

He looks right in front of him and walks towards the large door, listening to the heavy silence that burdens him. He lets the hot water flow until it's almost reaching the top of the tub and the mirrors of the room are blurred with steam, adding bathing salts and picking the less exotic-smelling shower gel, pouring it until there are so much bubbles that Louis can't see any more water. That's when he gets in, closing his eyes when he feels the burn of the too-hot water on his skin, enjoying the red pain that makes the thoughts temporarily go away.

 

He cuddles himself in the water, arms tight around his shoulders, rocking back and forth, humming as he breathes the familiar sent from the bubbles surrounding his naked body. He tries to push away once more the thoughts he's been trying to shove down deep inside, just a little more, not much, let me just have a night of sleep he begs himself, already feeling the well-known tingle running through his cheeks and the tight feeling inside his throat. He doesn't want to listen to himself cry, in the desperately silent room, where no one will come to kiss him goodnight or ask him what he plans on doing the next day. He doesn't want to realise how pathetic the entire situation is, and so he lets himself slide under the water that swallows him whole, everything dark around him.

 

 

It's 3am and Louis hasn't slept more than five minutes. He's so exhausted that he can't find any sleep, blanket tucked around him, pillows against his back and stomach. The bed is too big, Louis realises, and he's never felt so alone in his entire life. He can't seem to be able to stop thinking, about how different his life could have been if he'd just been born _normal_. _Normal_ , Louis thinks, liking girls and fucking girls and just generally being the best son he could have ever been. He knows, obviously, that being gay isn't his fault, isn't anyone's really; but if he believed in a God, he's pretty sure he'd blame it on him.

The freeing glimpses he'd had leaving the house and taking off on the plane are gone; Louis feels nothing but emptying pain and burning chest, heavy with mixed emotions he can't find the strength to sort out - guilt and anger and stress and sadness but most of all, loneliness. He would have given anything to have someone next to him, filling the cold space waiting, wrapping their arms around his body and whispering that _everything's going to be fine, because you're strong, Louis, you're so strong and I'm so proud of you._ It almost feels real, he can almost hear the voice whispering inside his ear, breath hot against his skin. It's a raspy voice that's completely opposed to Louis', masculine but kind, gentle, caressing. The voice would wrap around him and make him feel safe, the hot body against him soothing everything.

But when Louis opens his eyes, there still is this unbearable silence and his empty bed and empty heart, and he cries out every single tear he has in his body.


End file.
